


Wild Softness, Soft Wildness

by BadOldWest



Category: The Winner's Trilogy - Marie Rutkoski
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Light Bondage, Rough Sex, Smut, idk - Freeform, is hand-tying bondage?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/BadOldWest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I own you,” he would say, his voice so carefully controlled when it cut through the dark, the only thing touching her, “Do remember what it felt like when you bought me?”</p><p>Written to fill the void of Arin and Kestrel smut. Based presumably whenever these two get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He isn’t sure he can forgive Kestrel for some things.

With their newfound freedom they could get over a great many things. Most frustrations leftover from the war are therapeutically dealt with through means much different than fighting. Their bodies might as well be the land their people fought over; something conquered and hard won, changing masters and owners as dramatically as any war. All in the comfort of their bed, of course.

Or any other flat surface if they can’t quite make it all the way there.

Somewhere safe, somewhere that they know it is a game, a game with two players and no pawns.

Each wound has been cared for, each scar has been kissed a thousand times.

And he loves her like a queen. There is nothing quite like the surge of lust in his chest when she holds his hips down with her muscular thighs, back arched and neck high, smirking down at him as he is pinned at her mercy. Powerful, Malevolent Kestrel. To be her prey, he would have suffered a hundred wars.

And some nights he loves to be the one to show her mercy, to hold her frantically writhing body safely in his arms, to call her his little bird, his pet, and pleasure her until she begged for it to cease. Practiced, Benevolent Arin. He would have lived through the war a second time just to have her surrender under his body, so soft and gentle, the only home he needed now.

But sometimes Arin is not so good at mercy. Sometimes the nightmares come. Sometimes he can’t look past the precarious balance of power between them, how it began.

  
Nothing made Kestrel wild like when he’d bind her wrists, she’d do anything to buck him off, as if she half expecting him to haul her into a wagon to be transported to the slave market.

So there are nights where she wakes to find her wrists tied tight and Arin purring in her ear. He favored her on her knees, arms looped and tied around a bedpost.

  
“I own you,” he would say, his voice so carefully controlled when it cut through the dark, the only thing touching her, “Do remember what it felt like when you bought me?”

She’d press her cheek to the bedpost, bringing her upper arms to her sides to try and shield her breasts. He’d chuckle darkly, his hands pushing past her flimsy protection and smooth the skin of her bared breasts, bringing his fingers up to circle and tease.

  
“You thought about it, didn’t you?”

Her head would turn slightly as she leaned her brow to the rough wood of the bedpost, the softest sound escaping her lips.  
“No.”

There’d be a brief flash of pain against the flesh of her ass, a quick sharp ache and then the flat of his hand circling and soothing.  
“No lies.”

Her teeth would dig into her lip and she’d arch up towards him. She still didn’t entirely forgive herself for the moments she never spoke of, the flickers of consideration of what she would do to the handsome, proud boy she’d bought. He saw her guilt.

“What did you think, when you brought yourself home your own slave? This singer who wouldn’t sing for you? How did you think you’d break me?”  
She’d try to catch his mouth when he draped himself over her back, but instead he would sink his teeth into her neck. Sometimes a sigh, or depending the tightness of his hands on her hips and the groan he made against her skin; a scream.

They had things to say to stop it, little clues that only two with such entwined souls like they had could know. When Kestrel ever grew frightened, and it happened only once, she’d stop fighting him like an equal and let out a wail, not like her previous cries, and he’d lift his hand from her immediately.

But Kestrel, who had fought so valiantly to be her own through all of this, secretly loved being owned by Arin just as much as he loved taking her. So she would pretend.   
This is why he would come to her in the dark, why he’d bind her wrists, why he couldn’t look upon her face if he spoke this way. He couldn’t hold himself together under her eyes, the eyes that could make him feel so small. Because there was never a detail Kestrel didn’t catch, and to be seen so clearly when he gutted himself for her would have been the hardest thing he’d ever do. They had no secrets, only the light veiling of truths.

His fingers would tease and her mouth would beg with words and kisses against any of his skin he’d let her reach. Some nights it would shock him, how wet she’d be for him like this, how willing she was even though she was tied.

Once he’d get inside her was when he lost control. Sometimes he’d be rough, impatient, claiming his most costly prize. Sometimes he’d tease her until she’d beg to be taken, a victory worth it’s patience, if he had any to spare.

His first thrust was rough to remind her who so clearly owned her, the next sliding and skilled, to remind her that she liked it. As much as he loved her as his equal, his match, some nights Arin just needed to feel powerful, to hold the reins. To be the one she needed. The read her body and have full power over her, to make her needy and grateful.

  
And Kestrel understood so many of his demons, and was never frightened of these nights. Instead, she often was the first to become completely unraveled, crying out viciously as her orgasm tore through her.

Sometimes the hammering chaos in his brain cleared suddenly, like a fire snuffed. Suddenly he wouldn’t be angry, wouldn’t feel so wild. And Kestrel would be heavy-limbed and nonsensical, limp from pleasure.

He’d free her wrists, and she’d fall forward onto her arms, breathing heavily. Just a moment to catch her breath was allowed before he was rolling her onto her back, filling her once again, so deep and thick that she gave this small, choking sound like she could feel him at the base of her throat.

He’d seal his mouth over hers, and it felt so good to be kissed.

Her body was so soft under his, her back so elegantly arched, showing off her firm breasts. When her hands were free she knew what to do with them, twisting them in his hair and clawing at his back, gripping his ass as he fucked her hard.

Still, she let him have control, let him take as long as he needed to seek his pleasure, to use her body like he owned it.

His words were filthy yet so intensely personal. They gutted her, how deeply he seemed to know how to control a person, a power learned by observation. There were things he knew that she never would, never had been captured in such a way to learn, and she died to know the dark corners of his mind, the ones he came running to her to hide from.

“Yes, you own my body. Hardly a fair trade. A body for a soul?” she whispered once, and his orgasm seemed to shoot right up his spine. Never had he cum so hard in his life. He buried his face in her neck and howled and didn’t let her go, not to sleep, not to speak, until the light slanted up from their windows at dawn.

These nights were the times their skins felt stripped away by a knife, and their hearts were raw nerves rubbing together. She never felt as overwhelmingly close to her love as when she saw him so wild and unhinged. She didn’t think they could love each other as much without it.

When Arin was rough, Kestrel was gentle. When he was angry, she knew to forgive.

Arin was never truly angry at Kestrel. But sometimes he needed to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got asked to write more smut and I was thing about bite and Sting and then I was think about bees and then honey and them fucking and this happened over the course of a few hours...I have nothing to be sorry for....

Kestrel was drawn to a different side of their play than the one Arin prefered. He liked the brutality. The roughness. The aggression of smacking his hand against the curve of her thigh. Sex was the reward of a battle already won.

She disagreed. It offered her a challenge she couldn’t pass up. 

Kestrel liked the play of it all. The game. 

So, so many games to be played. 

Arin once joked that the two of them couldn’t eat breakfast without strategizing every move, and he was right. 

The way she sucked honey off her spoon was quite deliberate indeed. 

It was simple enough, the way she twisted the spoon upside-down in her mouth, sliding her tongue down its bowl with the quietest little sucking sound- one so quiet that he would only hear if he was listening. And of course he was listening. He could smell the honey’s sweetness, see the gloss of it coating her lower lip. 

But too soon she was primly sipping her tea like she hadn’t forced an intense state of arousal on him. One that he grudgingly wondered if she’d offer any aid towards. A troubling question before breakfast was even over.

All of it was power for power’s sake. 

She slid the jar of honey she’d generously added to her tea towards him, an offering. A challenge. A game. 

He took nothing but the sparest splash of milk with his tea. The stamp on the label of the jar, a geometrically perfect honeybee, went from cheerful to darkly poetic. A sting for some sweetness. Some sweetness for a sting. 

He dripped honey into his cup. She smiled as a few stray drops fell on his finger. He ignored them and drank. He now knew what her lips tasted like. 

But the act was, in itself a challenge, because she grabbed him by the wrist and neatly sucked his honey-sweetened finger into her mouth. It was a quick pull of her lips, something he had seen her do to her own finger during their disastrous attempt at baking. Too quick. Too teasing. And though he wanted to grumble that it was too early in the morning for her to behave in such an infuriating manner, especially since she should want for nothing after the way he drove her into the mattress upon waking up, he knew they would always want for more. Already his pulse was rushing in a way that made him quite dizzy. 

The silence between them was becoming too heavy for him to comfortably carry. Her lips were too far away, her eyes too smug, her skin daring to not touch him. 

“Have I not satisfied you enough?” He gave her the smirk he knew sent chills down her spine, the one that showed she could not break him, the one that knew she tried. 

And she gave the haughty little eye-roll that drove him mad, her nose high, chin set in determination. The one that told him he hadn’t seen her even begin trying. 

“No,” she said simply, the breathlessness of the word betraying her excitement over getting that satisfaction, again, because he had played his role beautifully and that simply made her greedy. 

He took a sip of tea, considering this. “I’m sorry then, because if my best efforts this morning…” He broke off a piece of bread, chewing slowly and swallowing before continuing, “...haven’t been enough, despite your apparent enthusiasm at the time, I don’t know if I can help you…”

Another sip of tea. And due to his messy serving of honey, some had collected at the edge of the cup. And was now smeared across his lip. 

She set her cup down.

“You’ll simply have to try harder,” she shrugged.

Quick as the last time, she licked the honey off his skin. But if she had planned to retreat, he’d never know, because he held her fast, pulling her onto his lap. Grinning into the kiss, victorious, she thanked him for playing with lush drags of her lips against his. Gods, he loved her. Fiercely competitive, her puzzle-box mid was going to drive him mad.  
She’d trapped him in her labyrinthine mind.

“Is it possible,” she nipped at his lower lip, “that I’m not the only one wanting more?”

She pushed off of him, shoving the plates and cups into a clattering mess across the table and sat above him, expectant. 

He surged forward to kiss her, having to lean up to meet her lips. Her height above him sent and ache through his heart. She handled her power so beautifully. 

Her fingers threaded in his hair, and she lowered her lips to brush along his scar. She hesitated the way she always did before touching it. He saw her mouth twist with guilt, and in response he lifted his face closer to meet her. She gripped him tighter, humming to herself while she followed the slope of the scar on his pretty face. The mark that was her fault. The mark she both hated and loved. 

His whole body trembled over her attention towards it. He knew she hated herself over it. It was strange, how as much pain it caused them, he’d never take it back. He wondered if he loved her this much before the scar. He wasn’t sure he could have. 

Kestrel had a harder time with it. No matter how much dearer his face was to her over it, unnecessary pain on her behalf sparked unpleasant feelings throughout her. His skin twitched with the desire to soothe. His hands started to inch her skirts up to settle around her hips. There was a pleasant ache between her legs left over from earlier. He saw how soft and swollen she was that she’d be tender. He had been rough with her that morning. Rolling her over when his cock was more awake than he was, kissing her sleepy face as her legs wrapped around him, punishing her with ruthless thrusts for the tease she’d been in his dreams. She’d loved every second, her hair sweaty and chaotic as she rolled out of bed with an airy laugh, seeking breakfast while he groaned from their bed for her to join him for more. There was something about how shaky her legs were as she left the room that would haunt his dreams. 

And he reigned in the wildness she made him feel, knowing that softness was needed, softness was what she was asking for. His lips ghosting along her inner thigh gave his promise to obey, and in response she tried to roll her hips closer, grabbing at his hair in her eagerness. 

But before he lowered his mouth to her, he reached for something she couldn’t see. Something warm dripped on to her sex, and he already had his greedy mouth on her before she realized, with utter ecstatic mindlessness, that it was honey. 

His mouth was careful, gentle in the same way that his hands were that had surprised her when they first met. It was almost like he was soothing the ache his roughness left on her. And it was impossibly good, his gentle worship of her. He found her undeniable when she would be the one to submit, but when it was his turn to give up his power he never fought it, he always gave her everything. 

And it was everything to her that he was willing to play, willing to challenge, willing to win and lose with grace. 

He looped his arms around her legs, anchoring her and making it easier to press closer. Her head swayed back and a cry choked at her when his tongue found a steady rhythm against her clit. It was a slow build and he didn’t deny her and he didn’t overstimulate her- not that she’d ever mind that but there was a moment earlier after he’d made her come yet again, quite relentlessly, she lay so still he thought he’d broken her. And this was the opposite of that. Just giving her what she wanted, not what he wanted to see. Selfless. 

Through that her power was different. She wasn’t making him do anything, he was simply giving because he wanted to. They were playing but it wasn’t a game and there wasn’t a winner. 

In that moment he was so dear to her she thought her heart would burst. She lay back on the table, no longer issuing an order but simply taking what he was giving, shuddering and whimpering. With an insistent, tight circling of his tongue she lost complete control. He snaked a hand free and reached up to tangle his fingers with hers, which she responded by gripping tightly. At the crest of her orgasm, which he encouraged with the steadiness of his tongue, he glanced up at her. he knew that she’d be a bit lost to him, yet lost in him. The minute she saw his eyes, so dark with love, her legs pulled him closer and the spasms inside her shook until she was limp on the table before him. 

He pressed a few grateful kisses to her thigh before pulling away. He carefully tucked her skirt back to a respectable position before leaning back in his chair and watching her breathe. She registered the act only after a slight distracted delay. She sat up, a questioning look on her face. 

“But...what about you?” Her legs tangled around his waist in an attempt to bring him closer. He stilled her, running a hand through her sweaty hair. 

“Shh,” he kissed her gently, “I’m fine.”

Moments ago he had been hard to the point of pain, almost releasing at the sound of her cries like an inexperienced boy. But as she slid into his lap, soft-limbed and sated, it was enough to hold her. She buried her face in his neck with a contented nuzzle. Her free hand came up to toy with the ends of his hair.

It was her gentleness that gutted him. How she could bring him to his knees so easily. For no reason more than she liked it. 

He glanced down to see the small smile curving across her pink lips, and the way she let him hold her told him all the things she couldn’t say. 

She had thanked him, in her way, for being willing to play.

**Author's Note:**

> *chants quietly* o-t-p. o-t-p. o-t-p. o-t-p.
> 
> Quick update for those still following Tension; the big chapter is in the works. I can't promise a day but it's in progress.


End file.
